


A Vision Of Betrayal

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Kinks, M/M, Rape, Squicky Pairings, Torture, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by MissyThis story is set when Saruman captures Gandalf and takes him to his tower to try and get him to join up with Sauron. I read what happened in the book, now *this* is my own take on what "really" happened. (Silent apology to Mr. Tolkien for any offenses)
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	A Vision Of Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).

He had given him good chance. Asked him nicely, dazzled him with promises of riches and the world if only Gandalf would just admit that he was made to be with him, with Sauron. Power like that needn't go wasted and Saruman was determined to make sure that it didn't.

The two were standing in his high chamber, almost at the top of the Tower of Orthanc. The air was very thin.

"Saruman," Gandalf said flatly, "I have heard speeches of kind before, but only in the mouths of emissaries sent from Mordor to deceive the ignorant. I cannot think that you brought me so far only to weary my ears."

Saruman walked to the friend he'd had since childhood slowly, his hands clasped behind his back and his head to the floor, till he stood so close that they felt each others breath, he raised wide, innocent blue eyes to look at him and said, "Why , of course not. I plan to weary much, much more then your ears."

With that he gripped Gandalfs wrists tight and forced him against the wall. A green light shone between his fingers and strong, magically conjured manacles appeared around Gandalfs wrists and locked him to the stone surface.

He unclenched his hands from the death grip he had on his friend to run them down his face in a parody of a caress.

"There is so much you and I could do together. We could own the world, the stars -- each other!"

Saruman descended upon his friends mouth like a vulture, forcing his tongue deeply down his throat. When they broke apart Gandalf scrunched up his face in disgust and spit in Sarumans eyes.

"I don't play with broken toys!" He ground out through clenched teeth.

"TOY?!" Saruman screeched and slapped Gandalf hard across the face, splitting his lip. "If anyone here resembles a toy," he sneered, "then YOU do! Running around with those brat boy kings, pretending to be the surrogate father they never had, while dirty hobbit creatures gaze up at you in ignorant wonder, wanting only to see you pull one more rabbit out of your ass!"

Gandalf, undaunted by the insult and determined to stay calm, gazed back at him with steady, steel gray eyes. "You think yourself cunning, clever, even to go so far as actually powerful." The last word was dripping with sarcasm. "When in reality you are nothing more than a pawn in Sarumans designs. A shiny noisy, back stabbing, expendable pawn."

He said this so softly, and with such assurance that it broke through to Sarumans mind, if only for a minute or two. And Saruman doubted. He doubted himself, he doubted his past, doubted if he had any future at all if he kept going down this path! Was he wrong? What was he doing?! He and Gandalf had played together as little children. Almost best friends. But then he felt a soft touch in the back of his mind, and a whisper he know too well by now.

Sauron.

Sauron entered his mind with a gentleness that he hadn't felt from the man before...a tenderness he didn't even know existed in the world, and he closed his eyes.

Stop now, easy.. That was then, and this is now. And now you are enemies. Friends do not stay friends forever. Keep going.

"But how!" he silently asked the Voice. He now felt a sharp pain in his temples and the Voice changed its tone dramatically, shouting inside his head.

FOOL! CHILD! Have you remembered nothing I have taught you? Or were my lessons just not as important as the other urgent matters you have to attend to?

He inwardly flinched at the harsh words, and send desperate "NO!" messages to the Voice. "NO! Just please make the pain go away!" The Voice seemed to snort and then softened a bit.

There are two basic methods of persuasion; physical and mental. Try physical first, as we would want him in the best mental condition possible if his magic will be any use to us. But do not be afraid to break him down mentally as a last resort. In any case we can use him, we need him.

And with that statement a wind ruffled his hair and the Voice left him, giving him a familiar empty ache in his heart. He quickly regained composure, stroking Gandalfs face where he had just slapped it.

"You'll come around," he said simply, softly. But his voice darkened with the last words he said before leaving his old friend ganging on the wall, "I'll make you."

Two days. Two days Gandalf the gray had been chained to the same wall. No food, no water, no company.He expected every moment for Saruman to waltz in and feed him, talk to him, yell at him, hurt him, something'but nothing at all for two days.

He repeatedly tried to call on his magic but only weakened with every attempt. Something in the room'an anti-magic spell, maybe even the manacles around his wrists could be draining him' His tongue swelled in his mouth, and his vision was rapidly turning gray and hazy.

Then, on the dawn of the third day, Saruman came in. He had a bowl of soup and a glass of water in his hands. He knelt in front of Gandalf and greeted him politely.

"I thought you would be hungry." Gandalfs throat was too dry to form a response.

"I hope you like this, I make it myself." Saruman lifted a spoonful and held it to Gandalfs lips. The wizards gray eyes stared back in hatred but the inside of him was rejoicing as the hot liquid slid down his throat, followed by a sip of icy cold water. His stomach cramped instantly, rejecting the little bit of food and he vomited it back up, right in Sarumans face.

If he had the strength, he would have burst out laughing. But the acid from the bile had stung badly, and instead of laughing his throat almost seemed to scream at him.

Saruman jumped back in surprise and disgust, the soup clattering to the floor and pooling around his captives feet. He wiped a bit of the pinkish-gray, chunky liquid off his face and started at it for a moment in shock. It was as if an honorary guest had just thrown up all over him, not his defiant prisoner who had been starved for the past two days.

"Look what you made me do," he said, gesturing at the spilled soup and splattered vomit. He sounded like a parent scolding a 5 year old child. "Now I'll have to get someone to clean this up. I made this especially for you, and this is the thanks I get??" He turned and walked out, muttering of Common Decency and Courtesy.

Twenty minutes later or so, a servant came in to clean up. When he finished, he told the prisoner that Saruman would be back in soon after his bath. So, the wizard sighed and slumped against the wall to wait.

* * *

When Saruman came back three hours later, he had a fresh bowl, a new glass, and a sharpened knife in his belt. His captive was nearly unconscious.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

Gandalf grudgingly nodded, looking away. Being spoon fed by the enemy did nothing for his pride; he felt like a helpless babe.

"If you do not keep it down this time, my friend, I will not give you another chance."

"He needs you," the logic inside Gandalfs mind whispered softly. "He wont kill you."

"not now at least" he argued back.

Nevertheless, this time when his stomach cramped, he swallowed desperately and forced the bile back down.

"Good boy." Saruman said and patted Gandalf on the head like a dog.

"Enjoy your victory while it lasts," his voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk but he forced the words out anyway, "All castles made of sand must be swept away by the rising tide."

"Oh?" Saruman chuckled sarcastically. "And who might this 'rising tide' be hmmm? And where might it come from? We are miles from the sea my friend." He fed Gandalf another spoonful of soup.

"The tide will not come from the sea, but from the one you worship most, the one who will shape your future wherever you go and whatever you do, because without knowing, you let him. He will rise up and slam down your dreams and delusions, and leave you only in a hollow shell. Saruman, that tide will be Sauron."

The soup almost slipped out of the wizards hands as his whole body flinch as if injured. He stared at the floor for a long stretch of time in silence, then calmly set the bowl down. He unsheathed the knife from his side and held it in a while knuckled grip. When Saruman finally looked up, his eyes were nothing but sudden, ferocious storms.

"NO!!" he screamed, and brought the knife down and across Gandalfs chest, cutting deeply. The wizard flung his head against the wall and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. That became harder and harder as Saruman kept slicing blindly at his chest and arms and shoulders, screaming all the time.

 **"NO!! THAT CAN'T BE!! YOU DO NOT KNOW!!! HOW CAN YOU EVEN BEGIN TO COMPREHEND WHAT** **WE HAVE???!!! WEAKLING! YOU KNOW NOTHING!! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A BAG OF HOT AIR!! I** **COULD KILL YOU FOR SAYING THAT!! I'LL KILL YOU I SWEAR!!!"**

Finally, his hand dropped to the floor and he knelt there panting. Gandalf, in spite of his pride, was almost in tears. The gray robes that Elrond had given him only a month ago were torn and soaked through with his own blood. The pain was almost unbearable, and it was all he could do to stay awake.Painless, soothing oblivion was tempting but he would rather die awake and messing with his captors mind than asleep and totally helpless.

For comfort he thought of Elrond, conjured up a picture of him in his mind. The midnight black hair with that thin circle of silver at the top. The only other hint of gray in his face resided in his eyes, and they both shone like stars, like the otherworldly power of some God lived in him. Gandalf was forever loosing himself in those eyes, and he tried to now. He tried to relive the warm, comforting nights when they were both still young, when they would lie together, holding each other.

Without meaning to, he fell asleep to those memories, with ghostly elven arms around him, and an exhausted psychotic wizard on top of him.

* * *

When he awoke he first noticed his hands. The hands that had been chained above and to the sides of his head were now lying limp on the floor. He moved his wrists a bit, a part of him fascinated at the fact that he could. He moved his eyes next and looked up above him into the beautiful blue sky dotted with white fluffy clouds..A light breeze brought some clouds together and some clouds apart again, and also brought a voice to his ears.

"Gandalf!"

He instantly recognized that voice as belonging to Elrond when he was younger. His ears must be playing tricks on him, maybe his head was confused from loss of blood.

"Gandalf!" Elrond called again, impatience and amusement in his tone. "Are you going to lay around there in the grass all day and let the sun fry your stubborn head or are you going to come inside with me?!"

Gandalf propped himself up to a sitting position and looked at a surprisingly young elf jogging over to him. His waist length black hair swayed gently side to side, covering an elegantly pointed ear. The young elf knelt down beside him, the slanted silver eyes laughing.

"Really! I know you do not favor mothers cooking but will it kill you to at least nibble a muffin to be polite?

He shook his head no, suddenly understanding where he was. He was in his childhood, back when he was no more than 20 and things were simple. By some twist of fate or stars he had been propelled here, but for how long?

Elrond grasped his hands and pulled his up and forward, toward the small house where he had lived as a child.

"Please come in -- for me?" The elf's face pouted up in that adorable way it always used to and Gandalf suddenly flew up and wrapped his arms around Elronds neck.

"Please don't let this be a dream!" he whispered.

"Gandalf! Why the sudden change in heart? I thought I'd meet more resistance from you when it came to mothers muffins.."

"No! not the muffins...you.." Gandalf rambled desperately in his friends shoulder.

"Gandalf!" Elrond pushed him back so he could look into his eyes.

"Love! I'm here. I am not a dream. I promise!" The taller elf leaned down and pressed soft firm lips against his and he returned the kiss with a fever, diving his tongue in mercilessly and gripping the compact body tightly. If he let go his lover would disappear..

"Don't leave me," he begged, "Don't let me go back to him..." "To who?"

Memories of Saruman and The War and The Ring and Frodo and the hardships of his old life beckoned to him, shouting responsibility. But what did he really owe them? He'd helped as well as he could, and what did he get in thanks? Whispers and rumors where ever he went, a reputation as a crib snatching wanderer, who did nothing but corrupt good little boys and girls?

Well he'd had enough of it. All things must come to an end and who was he to fight an end this sweet?

"No one." He said firmly. "Now what flavor muffins were they again?"

* * *

"I say, old friend, you must be hungry, talking about food in your sleep." Gandalf opened his eyes carefully. "Elrond?" Saruman laughed loudly and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

He looked up and noticed the blue skies were gone. All he saw was storm clouds.

"I thought you'd prefer these surroundings to the stuffy confines of my chambers. Personally standing here makes me feel so...free..."

A dream. It was only a dream...Crushing despair threatened to overwhelm him, a familiar depression sneaking up on him once again. But no, he would not give into it, he never did. He was back in the planes of reality now and time to deal with it. They were on a very high tower, a pinnacle. Gandalf could tell this because the very top of Sarumans tower was level with his eyes.

"Also this height ensures that you will not escape, provided you find a way to fly. The only was up to this point is by a thousand steps exactly and I have many spells that will prevent you from touching even the top stoop."

Laying on the ground next to him was a red cloth. Saruman lifted the cloth, revealing several unpleasant looking instruments, undoubtedly made for torture.

"Now -- my apologies for the interruptions, but let us get back to the business originally at hand."

"Why are you doing this??" He demanded, anger pushing back despair. "I will not yield Saruman, so either let me go free or kill me but stop wasting your time!"

* * *

And Saruman did neither of these things for next three days. Gandalf was not allowed to sleep, eat anything but simple bread and dirty water, and was subjected to ceaseless Logic, amazingly lucid in its madness. All he had to say was, "Yes.", and the pain would stop, he would be free, and would be ensured a fine and rich future. It seemed so simple.

The thumb screw was tightened.

"Say yes."

The whip was wielded.

"Say yes."

The weight on his chest was increased.

"Say yes."

The reeds were pushed deeper under his fingernails.

"Say yes."

And so it went on, for three days. He never said "yes", although he did say many other words and phrases, many directed at his captor and none of them very polite.

For the brief periods when Saruman would leave, he would lay where he had been dropped and tried to gather his thoughts. At one point he thought about his dream of Elrond. He thought about his decision to leave all loyalty to his friends and life behind, and take the easy way out. It shocked him, now that he thought about it, that he would consider that option.

But it _was_ Elrond. Did he not once say to himself, while watching the elf sleep, that he would do anything for him?

One morning, Saruman never came. Gandalf awoke on his own and not by his usual kick in the ribs. He waited patiently for someone to come up and bring some stale bread and dirty water, but it never came and he became hungry. He awoke again that evening, just when the sun was setting, after what he hoped was a healing sleep. It wasn't. It was then that someone finally came up. He expected Saruman of course, or at least the little servant thing Saruman called Wormtongue, but this was a new face.

But not new -- he would recognize this beloved face anywhere.

"Elrond?"

Unlike in his dream, this Elrond was his normal age, his dark hair cut to his shoulders, the gray eyes surrounded by a few more lines, but, as always, he had the same otherworldly, mysterious beauty that Gandalf found captivating."Elrond?" He asked again, stretching out his hand. The elf took it gently between both of his and knelt close to him.

"Easy dearest.Do not talk." He said softly, gently. "I heard word of your journey through Radagast, and was worried when you didn't come back for more than a week.

"How did you get past Saurian?" Gandalf asked, tired and confused. He was answered by a mischievous glint in Elrond's eyes.

"I talked him into it." He said, patting the sword at his side.

"What?! I've never known you to kill, let alone brag about the matter afterwards!"

"Yes, I know it may be a bit different from my usual philosophy, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I lost control when he told me his purpose for keeping you here. He should not be up here, trying in vain to hurt you into Sense and Logic, when I could be doing it much more efficiently for him."

Gandalf gasped and pulled his hand from Elronds, scooting away from him. "What?"

"Well, dearest," he started out like it should be the most obvious thing in the world, "he's been torturing you!And I just can't stand to you like this.

Sarumon just doesn't know that love is the greatest persuasive technique, not pain and hate."

Elrond crawled on all fours like a dog to him, the mischievous light in his eyes again. Gandalf pushed himself back further, his fingers dangling over the edge on the pinnacle.

"Elrond...beloved.." he said quietly, fighting back tears, "is this true? Do you mean to pick up where Saruman left off?"

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, "I'd never hurt you like that, like he did, you know that! You and I would be a much better team than Saruman and you. This doesn't have to involve pain, we would be equals. I love you, I just want you to have a good future. I want you to be on the Winning Side with me." There was a silence.

"You have just ensured that I will not have a future at all." Gandalf scooted more of his body over the edge, his legs dangling. He looked back once."And you have hurt me more than Saruman ever could."

He flung himself over the edge.

The sky rushed away form him, running form him, as the ground rushed to meet him. Glancing over at the top of the pinnacle, he saw Sarumans, not Elronds, stricken face staring at his descent, right before he hit a bed of soft brown feathers.

* * *

Voices seen to like to gloat when your not quite awake. They life to float and dart teasingly around you, each sounding different but all of them running into one another and becoming muffled. At times, it seemed to Gandalf that the voices were no more than ideas flitting chaotically through his brain to fast for him to catch.

"...for two...went...Gwaihir came...."

"Not much.....afraid."

"...help him....need....love him...." One voice was different. He reached for it but it flew away again, the others coming back.

"....I know how you must fe....."

"...sure....?"

"Please don't die..." THERE! There it was again! This voice was not muffled and confusing, but deep and melodic and familiar. This voice repeated three words steadily, like a heartbeat.

"Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die.."

He caught onto that heartbeat and held to it. He wasn't sure what he was hanging onto or what it was he was trying to get back to or out of but all he did know that this was something to _hold_. Simple as that.

* * *

The healers had left, and he was alone with the unconscious man. The healers said he was hurt badly, had lost too much blood, and had only a small chance of waking. Never more than now did he curse the incompetence and inadequacy of the healers in his own household.

Elrond brushed his lips across the back of the other mans knuckles. "Please don't die, dearest."

How many times had he pleaded that to Gandalfs hand, as if it would take on a life of its own and snap its fingers.

It was the hands that had always fascinated him; long, graceful, they almost radiated a tangible aura of experience.

And then, when they moved...oh, in sweeping arcs like angel wings or the quick, nimble movements of a elven child at play, Elrond would want nothing more than to have such things as those brush against his hands. Or any other part of his skin, or that matter..

"Please don't..."

They wouldn't move now.

* * *

Gandalf was reminded of the dream he had in Orthanc, the dream of Elrond. Funny how much you can remember something that never really came to pass... Right before waking up he had considered and consented with the notion of never returning to the real world (as some would say it was.) He was tempted to stay once again. No paradise was here, but a comforting blanket of Nothingness. The Nothing quenched the grief of the one he loved most betraying him, the pain of his abused flesh.... He wanted to stay...

* * *

Elrond's voice was becoming hoarse from repeating that same prayer over and over, so he fell upon touch as a prayer in itself. He ran his fingertips along Gandalfs arm, lightly, brushed back his hair, traced his face. 'So much is counting on you dearest..' he thought. 'I fear we will be lost if you leave us.'

He touched the eyelids gently, willing them to open.

'I fear I will be lost if you leave me.'

* * *

The voice had stopped. No!! His hands grasped vainly at the Nothing as his lifeline to whatever it was he was trying to hold onto disappeared and he fell.

Despite being in Nothing, he had the curious sensation of falling, when your stomach leaps and your chest shrinks to you can't breathe well. But then he felt something else, something catch him in mid-Nothing and cradle him. Slight, gentle, invisible beings danced down his arms, through the strands of his hair, around the curves of his face and neck. They were apparently keeping him up with wings or else he'd still be falling...Were they fairies?

The beings danced all around him, pulling and tugging at his brain to get him to open his eyes.

Open his eyes?

Is that why everything looked like Nothing? Because his eyes were closed? It had to be more than that, but he would give it a try anyway. He opened his eyes.

* * *

When he first saw the dark gray eyes looking back at him, he thought it was a dream, and expected largely to wake up soon. But he didn't and Gandalf opened his mouth also, croaking out, "El-El-rond?"

"Yes! Yes, dearest I am here, have worry no more, you are safe now." Gandalfs eyes flew open wide and he shot straight up in the bed in a panic. Elrond stretched out his hand and touched his shoulder but he flinched away, his eyes turning angry and wild. "No not touch me traitor!!"

* * *

Elrond...his beloved.... The first thing his eyes saw...

Before relief had time to sink in, the event of the last week came back to him in terrifying clarity; the tower, Saruman, Elrond...Of all the hurts and injuries he had lived through in his long life, nothing had wounded him as deep as Elrond's betrayal. He snarled something about "traitor", though he wasn't sure what he said.

The Traitor was speaking to him softly, hurt and confusion in his deep voice. Wasn't that the same voice that pleaded for him not to die while he was in the Nothing? If it was, he reasoned, it probably just wanted him alive so he could use him.

The touch came back again and he dodged it. The touch belonged to The Traitor. The Traitor wanted to use him. The Traitor wanted to hurt him. The Traitor...the traitor....was...

He remembered looking up as he feel from the tower and seeing...

Not Elrond.... Saruman.

* * *

A sudden change came into Gandalfs eyes, as if he just realized something, and he sat silent and thoughtful, looking at the bed. Then he looked up, peering suspiciously into Elronds eyes.

"Elrond?" he asked. Elrond just nodded, fearful any further response from him would trigger another violent reaction.

Gandalf slowly came close to him, till their noses were almost touching. He brought his thumbs up and ran them under Elronds eyes and down his cheeks, over his shoulders and his arms. Finally one hand rested over his heart and stayed there for a minute. As if he had found something, Gandalf visibly relaxed and brought his hands back to wipe at the moisture in his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry...I thought....that...."

Elrond shushed his and wrapped his arms around his neck. He felt the beginnings of tears on his neck and Gandalf tried to push away.

"Quiet dearest, there is nothing to be ashamed of." He brought his head down for Gandalf to see his own tears. "See? You are not alone, even in this."

"I know..." Gandalf said, burying his face against his beloved's neck again. "I was never alone.."

They sat together in each others arms, weeping for the most part. Eventually they dried each others tears with hands and lips and Gandalf told Elrond the whole account of what went on in Orthanc. Many times he had to stop and close his eyes against the images, and when he recounted his last hour when Saruman came to him as Elrond, and what he tried to do as a result, he shuddered and they held onto each other tighter.

Supper time came and they came down to the dinner hall, everyone greeting Gandalf with smiles and cheers. He held onto Elrond's hand, the pulse in their wrists pressed together and beating in time.

This was not an allusion or a vision or Nothing, Gandalf thought, smiling. This was real.

** _The end_ *** ...for real...


End file.
